


back's up against the wall (i feel guilty, i feel guilty)

by Branches_Cut_The_Sky_Open



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Here u go, M/M, also adam's dad is mentioned, basically a different getting-together for pynch, blue and ronan snark at each other, ive been working on this for an embarrassingly long time for 5k words, since i think the "they work on cabeswater at st agnes" is TRAGICALLY under-utilized, sorry - Freeform, sorry no henry or noah this time :(, takes place somewhere between tdt and bllb but like. maggies no good at timlines so, their friendship is THE WORLD to me., there is banter, there is pining, uhh theres some gore i don't think its gratiutious, why should i be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 16:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20933282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branches_Cut_The_Sky_Open/pseuds/Branches_Cut_The_Sky_Open
Summary: And so it begins.





	back's up against the wall (i feel guilty, i feel guilty)

**Author's Note:**

> title from "an act of kindness" by bastille.

Ronan found Adam’s hands a fascination. On the rare occasions he went to class, he found himself gazing at Adam’s hands as Adam took notes, or typed on the library computers, or simply fiddled with the slightly frayed hem of his Aglionby sweater. Sometimes, if he was too sleep-deprived or drunk to control his thoughts, Ronan imagined taking Adam’s hand where it picked at his hem, tangling their fingers, pulling the sweater over Adam’s head. _No_. Awake, Ronan always stopped himself there. Dreams were another matter, but weren’t they always.

“Lynch.”

Ronan blinked, Gansey’s voice yanking him from his reverie. He felt as if he had been caught doing something indecent, though it surely was no worse, and probably far better, then anything his classmates (God, he hated that word connecting him to the shitheads at Aglionby) had thought about any girl they’d met. 

“_Lynch_.” 

“What!” Ronan snapped, sharper than he’d meant to. But then, sharp was the Ronan Lynch brand. Sharp smile, sharp bird, the spines of his tattoo clawing from under the collar of his leather jacket. 

“I was wondering if you had anything this evening, or if you’re up for Nino’s tonight. Jane has work, so I thought we could go to her.”

“What about Parrish? Is he working?” Ronan’s studied disinterest was the careful work of many anxious and guilty days. 

“I don’t think so. He didn’t mention it.” 

“Yeah, I’ll go pester Sargent at work.”

Gansey smiled, and Ronan wondered if Gansey realized the transparency of that smile. He was so clearly infatuated, Ronan found it difficult to believe that Gansey really thought he was hiding anything from Adam. 

Ronan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He thought about ignoring it, but pulled it out to glance at the caller ID. On the screen was the word “Parrish”. Ronan answered it, ignoring Gansey’s look of surprise. 

“Hey Parrish.”

“Hey Lynch. Any plans tonight?” Adam sounded exhausted, but then Adam always sounded that way.

“Gansey had some crazy idea of going to Nino’s and annoying Sargent at work, if you were free. After that, no.”

“I’m off at four. I’ll meet y’all down there. Then, after we’re done nearly getting Blue fired, wanna come help me with Cabeswater?”

Ronan’s pulse quickened. Despite the many hours he had spent dreaming or just sleeping on the floor of Adam’s apartment, the thought remained somehow dangerous. He grunted an affirmation, and Adam hung up.

“So,” Gansey said. “Adam’s confirmed attendance?”

“Yep. He’s off at four. Meeting us there.”

Gansey nodded once, turning back to his desk. The boys were at Monmouth, in the room that was both the main room and Gansey’s room, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Every time Ronan moved, his skin unstuck from the leather couch with an ungodly sound, and began to adhere again the second he’d settled. The unforgiving late-August humidity promised a storm by evening.

Ronan loved storms.

He kept checking his watch. He was sketching the room, again. This time, he was drawing Gansey at his desk, dwarfed by the massive windows and towering bookshelves, the simple vastness of the room. There was something about drawing that made Ronan feel even better than when he was dreaming, at his most kingly. Something about creating, with his own hands, without magic, without threat. The worst thing a drawing could be was disappointing. 

Gansey stretched, ruining the studious pose Ronan had been outlining. Finally glancing at his own watch, he stood, snatching his wallet from the desk beside him, sliding his phone into the pocket of his cargo shorts. The fact that Gansey wore cargo shorts was eternally mystifying to Ronan. He supposed they went with the whole salmon-polo-shirt-prep-boy look that Gansey cultivated, but by God, they were hideous. _Hell, at least they aren’t mint green._ Small victory, but he’d take it. 

Ronan pulled off his headphones and followed Gansey out the door. The first floor of Monmouth was always cool and slightly damp, as if it were a basement, despite the fact that it was above ground. Perhaps it was just the sheer size of the space, but Ronan reveled in the moment of not sweating to death as they followed the path to the door, weaving their way between rusty pain cans and decomposing filing cabinets. The room yawned above them. Occasionally, when he was here alone, and in the dark, the shift of splintered wood and curls of wallpaper against ugly metal desks and shattered cinderblocks reminded Ronan, horribly, of the night-horrors’ claws. But, now, with the bright light of afternoon slicing through the drifting dust motes, the room was almost welcoming, cavernous and familiar.

The Pig was intolerably hot. The worn black vinyl of the passenger’s seat nearly burned Ronan’s skin off when he sat down, and he swore eloquently. Gansey gave an infuriatingly well-bred wince, and Ronan said “Roll down your window before I boil alive, man.”

“I would point out that you can only boil when submerged in water, but it’s nearly humid enough to qualify,” Gansey quipped as he wrestled with the window crank. Sweat was already standing on his upper lip. 

Ronan followed suit as the car roared to impossible life.

When they arrived, Adam’s shitbox was already parked, so Gansey pulled in next to it. Ronan climbed out before Gansey had even engaged the parking break, heading into the blissfully air-conditioned, if garlicky, interior of Nino’s. 

Blue was at the hostess stand, and half-grinned when she saw him, the smile completing when Gansey entered just behind him. “Right this way, gentlemen,” she said, thick with friendly sarcasm, not even bothering with menus. She followed them to the back corner booth, where Adam already sat, eyes closed, head tipped back, resting on the back of the orange vinyl seat. Ronan fought to stay calm, to not stare at the exposed length of Adam’s throat, the bruise-dark hollows of exhaustion under his eyes. 

Gansey slid into the booth opposite Adam, “Hey Parrish.”

Adam’s eyes fluttered open, and Ronan swallowed. “Hey Gansey.” They bumped knuckles. Ronan looked away just as Adam glanced over at him. “Lynch.”

“Parrish.” 

“Scoot over, Adam,” Blue said, punching him lightly in the shoulder. Ronan was fairly sure they’d broken up at some point, and he couldn't imagine Adam missing the stolen glances and small touches that Blue and Gansey tried to hide. He was far too clever. They seemed as close as ever, but the tension that had come both with their relationship and their breakup seemed to have eased. Adam smiled loosely and moved to allow Blue space. She sat, despite being on shift. The restaurant was empty anyway.

“Hey Parrish.” At the sound of Gansey’s voice, Adam opened his eyes.

“Hey Gansey.” His eyes turned to Ronan, just in time to see Ronan’s gaze slide sideways and away from him. “Lynch.”

“Parrish.” Ronan met his eyes, and there was something in them, something that Adam didn’t want to examine to closely. Or maybe he did. Before he could decide, he was distracted by a light fist to the shoulder.

“Scoot over, Adam,” Blue commanded.

Adam obliged, smiling. He was glad they’d broken up, really. He had been, since he’d got enough space and enough sense to think about it. Blue was beautiful, and funny, and capable, and he had liked her, but their relationship had never felt right. Too forced, and it only got harder the more they’d gotten to know each other. Now, looking at her, sitting next to her, he knew he loved her, but his crush was gone. For a while just after their breakup, both of them had been walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around each other, but now they were friends, and that was better. Infinitely better. 

He glanced up from the table to find Ronan’s watching him again. Their eyes met, for the briefest of moments, and then Ronan looked away. 

_Huh._

“How was work, Adam?” Asked Blue.

Adam shook himself. _You can’t deal with this now._ “It was fine. Got a couple oil changes done, ate a shitty sandwich, fixed someone’s burned out clutch. The usual. How were everyone’s days?”  
Blue answered first; “Orla is fucking intolerable, I swear. I called her a phone tramp again. She said she was going to curse me, which was hilarious because she is not a witch. Also Mr. Gray gave me this?” Shockingly, she produced a switchblade. It was bubblegum pink, which seemed hilarious Blue-like.

Gansey seemed to agree. “While I would not have predicted that you carry an illegal, albeit candy-coated, bladed weapon gifted you by your mother’s hit-man beau, I am unstartled.”Adam saw an absurd sort of wonder on his face. It frustrated Adam somewhat, to see their evident wanting, and to think that they thought him oblivious. He made up his mind to talk to Gansey about it. When he got the chance.

“Hey, Sargent, not to treat you like a waitress or something, but would you mind finding us some pizza? You’re so conveniently snack-sized I would have eaten you by now, except there’s this pesky fucking table in the way.” Ronan grinned, shark-like.

“Fine. Why don’t you eat Gansey, he’s right there.”

“Too rich. He’s give me indigestion.”

Blue scoffed, “Fine! Just put me to work.”

“Thanks, Heathen,” Ronan said sweetly, batting his eyelashes. They were dark and long, and they distracted Adam momentarily. 

_Huh._

Ronan caught him looking, and this time, Adam had to look away first. 

Adam’s eyes dropped to the tabletop, and his clasped hands. Ronan’s eyes went there too. Adam’s fingers were long, thin, knuckles protruding like knots in a branch. They were freckled, as were his arms and face. Ronan wondered if there were freckles on the rest of him too. _No._ He stopped himself there. He was awake. These particular dreams, that ones about Adam’s hands, and Adam’s freckles, could not be allowed to bleed into reality. 

Blue eventually returned, and pizza followed her not too long after. True to his hungry word, Ronan ate three slices without pausing for breath. Adam wolfed down four. 

“Savages,” was Blue’s only comment, eating her second slice at not the speed of a state-of-the-art vacuum cleaner. Gansey snorted, apparently having already eaten his fill. 

Blue refused to let them tip her when she was working, but they collaborated on the bill, and then Adam looked at Ronan and jerked his head slightly toward the door. Ronan nodded. 

Gansey and Blue didn’t object when Ronan and Adam left. The clouds were quickly gathering overhead, the light shifting away from summery and toward ominous. The rain started just as Adam was pulling into the church parking lot. Well, more accurately, the heavens split. 

“Well, shit,” said Adam, succinctly. 

“Indeed, Parrish.” Ronan sighed. “Wanna make a break for it?”

Adam shrugged, and reached for his door. “Three, two, one!” The boys sprinted for the stairs. By the time they were huddled under the scant shelter of the covered landing, they were both fairly soaked. Lightning flashed overhead as Adam fumbled with the key, and Ronan counted in his head, a childhood habit, never broken. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight_. Thunder hit as Adam finally got the door open. 

“Eight miles away.” 

Ronan looked at Adam sharply, hiding a smile. 

“So,” he began. “What did you need me for?” 

Adam sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure. I’m having a hard time figuring out what Cabeswater wants. It’s not as clear as usual. Usually I can draw cards to get the basic idea, and then scry for clarification, but–.” He paused. “I’m not sure. It’s like it’s keeping it’s distance and I can’t tell why.” He gnawed on his lip, briefly. Ronan reminded himself _don’t stare. Do not stare._ Too late. Adam met his eyes and Ronan looked away. 

“So you thought, what. If I dream while you scry, it might help somehow?”

Adam nodded. “Cabeswater needs tools to speak to me. When you’re dreaming, you already speak its language. Maybe you could translate for me.”

Ronan thought about it, mulling over every way it could go wrong.

“You should know, Parrish, that my dreams can go very wrong, very fast. Are you sure you’re willing to take the risk?”

Adam nodded again. 

“How do you usually do this?” Asked Ronan.

“Well, usually I use my bathroom sink, but I’m not sure that would work in this case.” Adam rummaged through the plastic storage bin that stood beside his mattress. Eventually, he came up with a votive candle clearly acquired from the church, a cracked saucer, and a cheap gas station cigarette lighter. Replacing the lid of the box, Adam set the candle, now on the saucer, on top of it. Ronan watched his hands on the lighter as he flicked it once, twice, and the wick caught. The flame seemed to burn unnaturally tall. Adam gestured toward the mattress as he settled himself cross-legged on the floor in front of the candle. Ronan shifted.

“What?” Adam looked up at him quizzically.

“I don’t wanna soak your mattress.”

Eternally practical, Adam blew out the candle. “There’s a towel in the bathroom.”

Ronan nodded, and went to dry off.

He returned a few minutes later to find Adam laying out three tarot cards. He couldn’t tell what they were. He didn’t care to find out, particularly. Adam looked up at him, eyebrows cocked, and Ronan grunted an assent, and went to lay down on the mattress.

It felt oddly vulnerable. All the times that he had slept here, he had always been on the floor, never the mattress. The sheets smelled of Adam, cheap shampoo and engine grease and sweat, and also something else, something like the smell of the fields at the Barns when it rained. He closed his eyes, and heard the flick of the lighter as Adam reignited the candle. 

Somehow, Ronan found himself asleep. 

He was in Cabeswater. He turned to see Adam standing next to him, and Adam reminded him, in English, “This is a dream.” Ronan understood.

They walked further in among the trees. Adam was right. Usually they spoke to Ronan, but now they were silent. Everything was silent. Ronan’s dreams took him into Cabeswater, and that included, usually, its inhabitants. Most of his dreams contained birdsong, small creatures, running water or wind through branches. Now, there was nothing.

Adam’s voice broke the unnatural quiet. “Cabeswater? I need you to speak to me. I brought the Greywaren, you can speak in your own language. But tell me what you need.”

Nothing.

Ronan said “Cabeswater?”

The trees hissed something, and Ronan strained to hear it. Very slowly, he translated. “They say. They say they don’t need anything. That they don't want you here right now.” He paused, brow furrowed, as the whispering began again, and grew louder. “They’re saying.” He stopped as the crescendo of trees was interrupted by another sound. 

_Tck-tck-tck-tck-tck_

_No. No no no no. Not this. Not now_.

“Parrish.”

“What?” Adam turned to him, brow furrowing in confusion when he saw Ronan’s knotted shoulders and grim expression.

“You have to go.”

“What do you mean? Why would I go?”

“I told you, my dreams go south fast.”

_Tck-tck-tck-tck-tck._

This time, Adam heard it too, and Ronan watched as he tensed. 

“Fuck. You have to go, now, Adam. Before they get here. But don’t wake me up, or I might bring them with me.”

Adam shook his head. “I’m not leaving you to that, Lynch. I’m not that shitty of a friend.”

“Have you ever been killed while scrying? This isn’t a projection of yourself. This is your soul that’s here, Parrish. Or your consciousness. Whatever. I’ve been killed in dreams before. It usually doesn’t hurt my body. But you aren’t dreaming. You don’t know what will happen. So just _go_!” Ronan could tell he wasn’t making much progress. Adam’s features had hardened into a militant expression. 

“I’m not running away, Lynch. Can’t you wake up? Now, before they’re close enough to bring back.” 

Ronan could see the night-horrors now, their scimitar beaks, their clustered-dread claws. One cocked its head, and malice rolled toward him like the end of the world. As the creature gathered itself, preparing to spring, Ronan turned to Adam. He collected his will, all of his intention, and, just as the night-horror lunged, he shoved Adam’s chest and thought _GO_ with all the purpose he would manage. He saw Adam’s fear for one moment, and, as the night-horror crashed into him, Adam disappeared.

Adam sat bolt upright on the apartment floor, gasping, heart firing. The candle had gone out. With dread growing in the pit of his stomach, he turned his gaze to Ronan, on the mattress a few feet away. He was writhing, fighting something Adam couldn't see. Searching desperately, Adam found the lighter on the floor, hidden under the tossed sheets. Hands shaking, he tried to light the candle. Tried again. And again. Something was wrong. 

He ran into his bathroom, fetching the tinfoil lining he used to transform his bathroom sink into a makeshift scrying bowl. He turned the water on, silently pleading with Cabeswater to let him in, _Goddammit, just let me in_. He slapped the faucet off as soon as the sink was full enough, glancing back at Ronan, who seemed to be losing strength. He was still twitching, still fighting, but his breathing was labored, and even stopped for a few heart-pounding moments. Thunder roared. Struggling to calm himself, Adam turned back to the sink, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the sounds of a losing battle in the other room. He forced his breathing to slow, his shoulders to relax. He stared into the water, willing the water to turn depthless, his sight to bleed out, willing Cabeswater to appear. He heard a hissing in his ears, _both_ his ears, and paused to listen.

_Hoc est nimis sero. Periculosum nimis. _

Fuck. No. He turned back to Ronan, dreading was he would see.

Ronan was awake. He was lying still, eyes closed, but in the stormy half-light, Adam could see a dark stain spreading across his mattress. Ronan had brought the wound back with him. 

“_Fuck!_” He was across the tiny room before he even realized it, and crumpling to knees at Ronan’s side. Ronan’s eyes snapped open, immediately filling with pain. “_Fuck! _Ronan, what happened?”

Ronan floated above his body, watching as blood seeped into Adam’s mattress, and as Adam himself flung himself across the room to Ronan’s side. As Adam swore, vehemently, Ronan snapped back into his physical form. _Ow._ Just trying breathe drove an ice pick into his side. 

“Ronan, what happened?”

_Was it not obvious?_ “It got me.”

“Right. What can I do?”

For a moment, Ronan felt anger flare up, the desire to snap at Adam, his instinctive reaction to pain and vulnerability. He fought it back. _Is that the result you want? Pissing him off until he just leaves you to bleed out in his apartment?_

“I need to know how bad it is. All of it. But I can’t get my shirt off, it hurts too much to move.”

Adam nodded. He was always happiest when he had a clear goal. Setting his scrying candle and saucer onto the floor, he set to rummaging in the box, while Ronan focused on not screaming every time he tried to breathe. This couldn’t be good. Adam reappeared above him, brandishing scissors. 

“You should know, that’s not an encouraging sight, Parrish,” Ronan groaned, and Adam rolled his eyes, but his knotted shoulders relaxed a little. Adam cut Ronan’s black muscle t down the middle, gently peeling the fabric away from the wound. Ronan hissed, and Adam flinched at the sight of his chest. Ronan couldn’t see without subjecting himself to more agony than he was willing to put up with, but he could see from Adam’s face that it wasn’t good. 

“How bad is it, Parrish? Do I need to go to the hospital? Because I’d really rather not.” Ronan hated hospitals nearly as much as he hated Aglionby. “Unless your magician brain can come up with an excuse that isn’t ‘I fell down.’”

Adam flinched again, and Ronan wished he hadn’t said that. 

Adam rocked back on his heals, eyes shut in an apparent effort to concentrate. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders tense. 

“Parrish?”

Eyes snapped open, and Adam returned. “Ok. Ok. I don’t think you’ll have to go to the hospital, but let me clean you up first. I need to see how deep these cuts are. Can you stand up?”

Ronan didn’t need to try to answer that question. “No.” 

With a brisk nod, Adam went into the tiny bathroom. Ronan heard running water, and then Adam returned with an extraordinarily ratty t-shirt, soaked, and his towel, still damp from the rain. He used the t-shirt first, gingerly wiping blood away as Ronan clenched his fists and gritted his teeth and tried not to make to much noise. The bleeding had apparently slowed, and Adam pressed the folded towel to Ronan’s side. 

“Ok. Just. Hold that there and try not to die. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you off to?”

“CVS. I need butterfly closures and antiseptic and stuff.”

“I’ve got cash in my wallet. Left hand pocket of my coat.” Ronan gestured with his chin. 

“I’m not taking your money.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Parrish, I’m asking you to use my money to buy medical supplies to be used on my injuries, which is exactly what you would have me do. I’m not telling you to buy yourself a coffee while you’re at it.”

After a brief internal war, Adam sighed and leaned over to snag Ronan’s wallet. Ronan could see Adam doing sums in his head, trying to calculate how much he needed to take.

“Just take the whole thing. I trust you not to rob me blind while I bleed out in your apartment.” 

Apparently out of arguments, Adam pocketed the wallet and, after one more worried glance at Ronan, left.

Adam fought with himself the entire ten-minute drive to the CVS, but the thought of his soon-to-be-diminishing work hours decided him. _It’s not charity. I’m only doing the buying because Ronan can’t move._ So he wrestled away the instant jealousy that reared at the sight of the sheer number of bills in Ronan’s wallet, and he bought gauze pads, butterfly closures, superglue, rubbing alcohol, bandages, and also a bottle of topical anesthetic. The cashier’s brow was furrowed as they rung it all up, but they let it pass without comment, for which Adam was grateful.

Ronan was just where Adam had left him, blue eyes bright and jaw clenched. He grinned at Adam; a grim twist of lips, a flash of teeth. 

“How is it? Still bleeding?” Ronan nodded.

Adam knelt beside him, gently tugging at Ronan’s wrist until he allowed his hand to fall away from the towel wadded on the worst of the wounds. A single oath slipped between Ronan’s teeth as Adam peeled the towel off. 

The wounds were ugly, three ragged gouges arcing up from the bottom of Ronan’s rib cage to just under his bicep. His shoulder was marked with smaller lesions. Adam started with those, cleaning them up first with water, then with alcohol, finally taping them over with gauze. Then he turned to the cuts on Ronan’s side. Once he washed away as much of the blood as he could manage, ignoring Ronan as he swore fluently the entire time, he found that they looked grisly, but weren’t too deep. That was comforting at least. This he could handle. A sudden realization occurred to him, and he let out a single huff of breath, not a laugh. _Thanks, Dad. _It was not a happy thought.

Ronan gritted his teeth, murmuring curse after curse as Adam gently washed the wounds on his side, and began to attach butterfly closures, one at a time. Most of the curses were because _God, that fucking hurts_. But a select few were for the moments when he felt Adam’s deft fingers graze along an unbroken stretch of skin, electricity trailing them.He knew this was ridiculous. _You are sliced up in his apartment and he has to patch you up and all you can think about are his _hands_? Really?_

Finally, Adam sat back on his heels. “That’s the best I can do. I’m still not sure you won’t need to go to the hospital at some point, but at least now we have time to figure out a cover story or something.” He was clearly rattled, his bloody hands twisting together, eyes darting.

“Parrish.”

“Mm.”

“Parrish.”

“What?”

“Look at me.” Adam did. “Are you ok?”

Adam nodded briskly, forcing his hands still in his lap.

“Liar.” 

Glaring at him, Adam went to the tiny bathroom to wash his hands. When he returned, he settled on the mattress next to Ronan’s hip, head bowed, staring at the ragged floorboards.

Ronan watched him. Adam’s straight nose, his sandy hair cut unevenly so it curled around his ears. There was a streak of blood on his cheekbone and Ronan’s fingers twitched, resisting the urge to wipe it away. 

Adam’s eyes slid sideways, and he caught Ronan looking. His brows quirked, a question Ronan wasn’t sure he was ready to answer. He glanced away, closing his eyes.

Adam let out something that sounded like a laugh, if you turned it inside out. 

“What’s funny, Parrish?”

A shake of the head. “Nothing. It’ll just piss you off. You’re too frail to be righteous at the moment.”

Ronan shrugged. He was also, apparently, too frail to pursue the point. So he went back to studying Adam’s hands. Thunder rolled outside, creeping away.

His side hurt far too much to fall asleep, but Ronan felt himself slipping nonetheless into something warm and red. Delirium? Maybe. He felt unmoored from his body, cut loose into the dying light. Sense evaded him. He wanted Adam to touch him, even just gruffly, just to be sure that he was still here, still tethered to that motionless form on the bed. It felt like after he’d been dreaming, when he drifted over his body, unfastened. He tried to hum, to make any sound that might draw Adam’s attention to him, but he couldn't manage it. Desperately, he twitched his reluctant fingers toward Adam’s side. Adam, apparently on high alert after the evenings events, turned to him, lips parted. The crease between his brows deepened as he took in Ronan’s glassy eyes. Hesitant, he put his hand on Ronan’s shoulder, mouth forming the first syllable of his name “Ro–?” 

At the halting brush of Adam’s fingers, Ronan snapped back to himself, fisting his hands in the sheets. He took a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs. Then he smiled shakily up at Adam, trying to reassure him.

Adam was obviously not reassured. “What the hell was that, Lynch?”

Ronan grimaced as a shrug pulled at the wounds in his side. “No idea. It was shit, whatever it was.”

“Well don’t do it again. You looked–.” Adam broke off, suddenly. There was something in his eyes. “You looked empty.”

Ronan suppressed a shudder. That was a dreadful thought. 

Something struck him.

“Where are you gonna sleep tonight, Parrish?”

Turning away, Adam shrugged. “The floor, I guess. Charming as you are, Lynch, I don’t think I’m willing to sleep in a pool of your blood.”

Ronan grinned, acting like he wasn't on fire. He realized again how absurd it was, that he was laying on his friend’s ruined mattress, in a pool of his own blood, and said friend had just said he’d now have to sleep on the floor, and all Ronan could think about was that Adam had called him charming. _He doesn’t mean it. He’s kidding._ But he couldn’t stop himself from replying, “Don’t worry, Parrish, I’ll win you over eventually.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow, facing him once more. “Oh, will you? What’s your next move, crash your car and bring it to Boyd’s for me to fix?”

The thought of Adam in his mechanic’s coveralls, head inside the BMW, made Ronan’s mouth go dry. _He’s kidding, he’s kidding_. He croaked out an unconvincingly nonchalant “Maybe.”

Adam’s look of mock-challenge had faded, and now he and Ronan were just looking at each other. Caught unawares, Ronan couldn’t stop himself from watching the way that Adam’s lashes fluttered, brushing against the purplish skin beneath his eyes. Ronan’s chest felt too full, he thought if the moment continued any longer he would snap. He wasn’t sure what snapping entailed, but he couldn’t move from the mattress, so his options were limited. Slowly, so slowly, as if Adam was a deer, or a stray cat, like he might scare him away, Ronan lifted his hand. Adam didn’t move away. Ronan brushed just the tips of his fingers over the smooth skin of Adam’s cheekbone. He nestled his palm against the curve of Adam’s jaw. Drifted it around until it rested against the base of Adam’s skull. He tugged Adam downward, hyperaware of everything about him, waiting for Adam to pull away, duck out of his grip, make a noise of dissent. He kept his eyes on Adam’s, and he saw no distress there.

Ronan only closed his eyes when their lips finally brushed. It was just a blink, really, and he let his hand fall back to Adam’s cheek, not wanting to keep Adam pinned, but not wanting to stop touching him, either. Adam pulled back, just far enough to get a good look at Ronan’s face. The tips of his ears were pink. He didn’t shake Ronan off. His eyebrow crease was back, if it had ever left. His lips quirked, a little. Then he leaned forward again. Warmth filled Ronan, beginning at his mouth and radiating outward, and he brought his other hand up, tangling it in the hair at the nape of Adam’s neck. Adam hummed into his mouth. Ronan could feel him smiling, and finally Adam broke the kiss, backing off just a little. 

Ronan couldn’t tell if his side still hurt. He didn’t care. He felt a little drunk, or else completely sober. He reminded himself that he was not dreaming. Adam’s ears were still blushing, as was the rest of his face. Ronan caressed his thumb over the arch of his cheekbone, and could feel himself smiling, a little foolishly. Adam sat up, slowly

“Tell me, do I have to wreck my car to get you to do that again?”

Adam burst out laughing, and Ronan joined him, until it became abruptly obvious whatever magical powers Adam might possess, Ronan’s injuries were not going to stand for any of that treatment. But the evening was too ridiculous, all of it, and now the fear and anxiety that had pervaded every moment of it was dragged out of both of them in painful gouts of laughter. By the time it became a matter of breathing or losing consciousness, both of them had tears in their eyes. Ronan’s were mostly from the pain in his side. Cautiously, he reached for Adam’s left hand, and Adam let him take it. Something about all this made Ronan bold, and so he said “You’re sure I can’t convince you to sleep in the puddle of blood with me?”

Adam laughed again, shaking his head. “Sorry, Lynch. I’ve only got so many shirts.”

Ronan grinned sharply, but he could feel exhaustion tugging at him. Adam stood, yawning, and collected the sleeping bag that Ronan had “forgotten” around his fifth time sleeping at St. Agnes. He rolled it out, and Ronan watched him. 

Adam turned out the lights.

Ronan watched his outline walk back to the sleeping bag and struggle inside it. He drifted off with the feeling of Adam’s mouth fresh on his.

**Author's Note:**

> the summary is a lie i don't plan on writing another installation to this its just that like. and so pynch begins.


End file.
